


all along the watchtower.

by heartshapedcookie, heereandqueer



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Hailey: they have a dog, M/M, Mentions of Anxiety, Nightmares, and that dog is Ethan's baby, me tearing up: they have a dog, mostly fluff with a heathy dose of angst, tired boys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-06
Updated: 2018-01-06
Packaged: 2019-03-01 06:34:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13289088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartshapedcookie/pseuds/heartshapedcookie, https://archiveofourown.org/users/heereandqueer/pseuds/heereandqueer
Summary: Happiness is a warm puppy. Or rather, security, self-care, and safety are a warm, ugly, loyal puppy.Ben and Ethan adopt a dog.





	all along the watchtower.

**Author's Note:**

> Hailey: they have a dog named cooper
> 
> me, already sitting down to write this: oh good I would die for him

all along the watchtower. 

“Are you sure about this?”

“No, I made us walk thirteen blocks in the freezing cold because I’m still on the fence,” Ben deadpanned, unwinding his scarf from around his neck and shoving it into the pocket of his fleecy parka. He was dressed to weather the elements—his tolerance for cold having been severely stunted by a lifetime in the sunshine state—unlike his boyfriend, who had once again opted for his grungy hoodie and jeans even though it was pushing thirty outside. Ethan had his unprotected hands shoved into his pockets, shivering in spite of the damp, oppressive heat of the shelter. 

Ethan squinted irritably at him, stepping in place to encourage blood flow to his frozen feet. “Y-You think you’re so funny.”

“I do think so,” Ben said with a smarmy grin. He relished in Ethan’s scowl, then kissed his boyfriend’s cool forehead and gestured to the wall of cages before them. “What do you say? Ready to browse?”

Ethan’s agitation promptly melted and was replaced with a cautious excitement; he fidgeted with the sleeve of his hoodie as he surveyed the animals before him. After a moment’s hesitation, he approached the cages with all the heed one might exhibit in the presence of a wounded deer. Ben allowed a small berth of space to form between them, giving Ethan the freedom to browse at his leisure. 

It had been Ben’s idea to visit the shelter, even though Ethan was the animal lover of the pair. His gentle queries about why Ethan hadn’t thought to adopt a pet of his own instead of visiting the corner bodega just to dispense ear scratches to the cats that lived there had been met with uncertain shrugs and topic changes—at least, until the incident. The terror and anxiety of the event had squeezed something inside of Ethan, had twisted it loose and warped the infrastructure of his being. They were still sifting through the collateral damage, identifying and resolving the consequences as they went. A handful of the repercussions were positive—Ethan had finally left his horrible job and gutted the medicine cabinet—but a distressing number had left a less pleasant impact on their lives. 

There were the nightmares, most of which were so violent that Ben was jolted awake far too frequently by the rocking of the mattress beneath them and the hoarse, frantic whisperings of “wait, wait, please”. If he wasn’t dreaming, he was laying stiffly at Ben’s side, eyes trained on the shadow-splashed ceiling and sharp ears rapidly tagging every sound they caught. Every errant clatter was an attacker creeping up the stairs, every click the safety of a gun being disengaged, every creak a killer shifting its weight from foot to foot. It was only out of concern of waking Ben that he didn’t climb out of bed once an hour to confirm the front door was locked and bolted. 

Ben had done his best to quell Ethan’s fears, covering every conceivable base from investing in one of those absurdly loud noise-cancelling fans his mother swore by to installing a bedroom door lock while Ethan was at work, but he invariably came up short. It wasn’t his fault—the anxiety gremlins that had long ago hijacked his boyfriend’s brain were tough to beat. He was still justifiably frustrated by his inability to prove that Ethan was safe, that there would be no more guns or syringes, but his irritation stemmed from their situation, not himself. He had done everything in his power.

What he needed was a little help from a furry friend.

He had recently covered a story about the spike in the registration of therapy dogs in the city, an assignment he had initially balked at before realizing just how beneficial this research would be in uprighting the collapsed architecture of his boyfriend’s psyche. Ethan had lamented about the unfairness of the situation—”you get to interview dogs while I sit in an office” “Ethan, how do you think journalism works?”—and asked Ben to take plenty of pictures of any dog he got to meet, totally oblivious to Ben’s plan to connect Ethan with a dog of his own. 

He had made the proposition casually last night after finally convincing Ethan to come to bed. Tomorrow was Sunday, their only day off, and Ben was determined to get Ethan out of the apartment and into the shelter to at least consider adopting a dog. To his surprise, Ethan had quickly agreed to his proposal, his eyes lighting up with something not unlike glee at the idea of a pet for the apartment. Whatever had been twisted loose had created space for trust in himself to blossom.

Ben watched his boyfriend scan the cages, smiling inexorably at the puppies and occasionally mouthing something—probably “hi, there”—to particularly adorable specimens. Before he could approach him and ask how the search was going, Ethan dropped suddenly to his knees and practically rammed his fingers through the bars of a floor-level cage, cooing to the animal inside.

By the time Ben made it over to where his boyfriend was kneeling, Ethan had already unbolted the cage and was showering what looked like a black, stringy mop in affectionate scratches. Ben didn’t have to look twice at the mangy pile of fur to realize that Ethan had fallen head over heels for the ugliest dog in New York. The scrawny dog’s face was more whisker than fur and its sandy tongue lolled helplessly out of its snaggle-toothed mouth; it barked loudly up at them, then sneezed violently.

“I love him,” Ethan declared.

“Of course you do.”

Maybe his plan had worked a little too well.

.  
.

Ben shut the front door behind him and immediately began stripping out of his stiff, uncomfortable work clothes. He enjoyed looking professional on the job and especially enjoyed the blush that inevitably flowered in Ethan’s cheeks whenever he saw his boyfriend in his crisp button-down and tie, but his fondness for the unmatched comfort of sweats and his old Stanford sweatshirt championed his desire to torment Ethan. 

Stepping out of his shoes, Ben grabbed the scrunchie that kept his voluminous curls in place during the day and yanked it out. He had almost undone every button when he belatedly noticed the silence in the apartment. Ethan should have been home by now: it was Friday, which meant the office closed early so the sponsors could meet with Ethan’s boss and discuss the trajectory of the start-up. Ben was typically greeted by Ethan’s horrible music preferences pouring out of the speakers or the humming of the coffeemaker, but today, he heard nothing. A mild prickle of panic stung his heart.

“Ethan?” Ben called out, forgetting his shirt and allowing it to hang open as he moved through the kitchen into the living room. Ethan’s laptop was sitting on the coffee table, unopened; his disgusting Converse were parked near the sofa. Resisting the urge to seize this rare opportunity and toss the shoes, Ben headed into the bedroom where he made an incredible discovery. 

Ethan was sprawled across the bed, seemingly having passed out before he could think to pull the blankets over himself. Cooper—lovingly named after Ben’s political crush Anderson Cooper, a decision Ethan probably would have resented more had he not found the name to be extremely fitting for their ugly pet—had wriggled himself into the space between Ethan’s arm and his side, and was sleeping with his chin propped against the man’s chest. Both were snoring softly, Cooper louder than Ethan, and looked as if they had been napping contentedly for quite some time now. Which was exactly why Ben had no qualms about barking laughter loudly enough to wake them both.

Cooper immediately snapped awake and began yapping defensively, prepared to protect the sleeping man from attackers. After identifying the intruder, Cooper’s raised hackles lowered and he barked happily in greeting; he leapt off the bed to visit his food dish. Ethan was slower to rouse, blinking sleepily in the faded evening light. As he pulled himself into a sitting position, Ethan squinted at Ben and, much like Cooper, stiffened before recognizing the snickers coming from the doorway. 

“How’re you doing, Sleeping Beauty?” Ben teased, giving Cooper a quick scratch before heading into the bedroom.

“Mmm… what—what happened?” Ethan mumbled. His already messy curls were in absolute disarray and there was a particularly attractive hot-pink splotch on his scruffy cheek from burying his face into the pillow. If Ben wasn’t already in love with this man, he would have been absolutely fucked by this sight.

“You were sleeping.”

“Huh?” He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and glanced around, gradually placing his surroundings. “Oh, shit.”

“What, did you trip into bed on accident?” Ben asked, chuckling and pushing Ethan’s hectic bangs out of his eyes. Ethan purposefully shook his hair back into place with a scowl. 

“Cooper wanted to sleep.”

Ben rolled his eyes. “Are you serious?”

“He was tired from his walk! He needed to sleep!” Ethan protested.

“I’m pretty sure he wasn’t the only one,” Ben said with an appraising smile; Ethan flipped him off before falling back against the pillows. “I can’t believe you need a ten-pound dog to tell you when to sleep.”

“Shut up.”

Ben threw himself onto the bed and flung an arm over Ethan, who seemed less thrilled to be sleeping with his boyfriend than with his mangy dog. “What if I want to sleep? Does my opinion matter as much as Cooper’s?”

“Of course it doesn’t.”

“Too bad, I’m tired from work and you haven’t slept in two nights,” Ben replied, pressing a kiss to Ethan’s cheek. The smaller man elicited a grunt of discontent, then rolled over to peck him lightly on the lips. 

As they made themselves comfortable in bed—knowing that they had the whole night to themselves—Ben smiled in spite of himself at the fading dark circles under his boyfriend’s eyes. He had anticipated Cooper having a positive impact on their general wellbeing, given he was objectively better at existing than both of his owners on sheer principle alone, but Cooper had gone above and beyond by inadvertently forcing Ethan to take care of himself. Today wasn’t the first time he had caught Ethan dozing with Cooper: the dog, though far from Stanford material, was at least smart enough to understand when his owner was in need of some sleep. Ethan was still far more concerned with caring for Cooper than for himself, but being in charge of another living being’s health and safety had toggled some internal switch that Ben had been groping for since their first date. It was impossible to get him to sit down and eat something, yet his trips to the kitchen to refresh Cooper’s food and water bowls often encouraged him to grab a granola bar or bottled water before returning to his work. 

Cooper had taught him that he was worth taking care of, however accidentally and loudly and excitedly. Ben jotted down a mental note to give the mutt a treat with his breakfast tomorrow morning—he deserved compensation for his achievements. God knew the dog had done more in a few weeks than Ben had managed to do in months.

“G’night, Ethan.”

“Mmm, night.”

.  
.

The cobalt numbers on the alarm clock’s interface glowed spectrally in the darkness of four am. Ethan had violently jerked awake a few seconds prior and was staring at the numbers, struggling to ground himself before his brain could untether itself from his body and float away. He gazed blankly at the clock, lower lip firmly tucked under his front teeth in the attempt to steady his breathing and hands periodically clenching into fists.

It was a familiar nightmare, one of a few frequent fliers that had bought airspace in his brain and used it generously. He was on his knees in that chilly warehouse, frantically trying to stem the bloodflow with his hands and watching helplessly as the life-light drained from the terrified eyes before him. Only the eyes weren’t those of Mary, they were warm and brown and fringed with ridiculously luscious lashes, and the shaky pleas for help were deeper and the hand scrambling for his own was large and rough in places with typing calluses. They had shot Ben, his Ben, and there was nothing he could do other than beg him to stay with him as the beats of Ben’s sweet, loving heart ground to a final halt.

Even though he knew that Ben was safe—he was snoring next to him in bed, one arm still loosely flung around Ethan’s smaller body—he couldn’t reconcile the devastatingly real vision in his dream with the man beside him. He had watched Mary die and he was so fucking self-centered because this woman had actually bled to death in his arms and all he could do in those moments was think about Ben Ben Ben, had they gotten to Ben, when could he call Ben? He had failed an innocent woman, he had failed Krupa, and who knew if those bastards had actually given up the chase? What if they were waiting outside? What if they had found out where Ben worked and were just waiting for the perfect moment to spring their awful trap? What—?

“Boof.”

He hadn’t heard the drizzly click of Cooper’s paws against the floor, nor the slight creak of the door being nudged open. The dog hesitantly licked Ethan’s face before settling his paws on his sternum and nuzzling his cheek with his whiskery snout, eking a watery laugh out of the man. 

“Hey, Coop,” Ethan whispered, smiling wanly. Cooper boofed quietly again so as not to wake his other owner, then licked Ethan until he received a firm scratching behind the ears. 

After receiving his token of affection, Cooper nudged Ethan a final time, then jumped off of the bed and trotted over to the bedroom door, where he demonstratively sat down with his eyes trained on the knob. He was posed to attack, ears cocked for unfamiliar noises and haunches tense. Even if he wasn’t sure why his owner was so spooked by the apartment sounds, Cooper wanted to keep him safe and if that meant guarding the bedroom door from would-be attackers, then so be it.

Ethan relaxed his hands and settled back into bed; Ben shifted, yawned, and tightened his grip on his boyfriend. The close proximity was comforting, so much so that Ethan found himself slipping back into a half-conscious state. He rested his head against Ben’s sturdy shoulder, listening for the steady tempo of his pulse; upon recovering it, he finally closed his eyes. Ben was here. Cooper was keeping watch at the door. And he was safe. He was safe. He was safe.


End file.
